Ravens
by Tristen Jacobs
Summary: Jacob finds a new toy, but she's not as she seems.
1. Chapter 1

Tristen Colden grumbled and tightened the buckle on her combat boot before stepping off the bus. Of course _she_ would be the only one to get sent out. Some cleaning job at a shitty hotel, they said. It would give her 3 months off her sentence, her lawyer told her. Bullshit, she thought to herself. They don't give anyone any time off of their sentence. Her friend Rome had told her about the hotel she was going to. Blackwell Hotel, the scene of a few murders a few years ago. She sucked on the cinnamon toothpick, looking up at the building with a smirk.  
"Home, sweet home. Look at this place."  
The guard looked at her oddly, grunting.  
"Freak."  
"Damn right. I love horror. This place is amazing," she said with a deep inhale, exhaling with a grin. The burned-out upper decks of the building loomed over her, giving her a pleasant chill up her spine. She'd read the stories about the so-called murderer Jacob Goodnight. How a group of teens had supposedly killed him three years earlier, and that his body was somewhere in the bowels of the hotel. Tristen was excited to be able to poke around in the place, possibly find something of his. To say that the Goodnight murders enthralled her was a severe understatement. She was obsessed. All her time was spent reading up on the murders, the victims. Her favorite was Jacob's murder of some chick who had liberated dogs from an animal shelter. She'd tried to escape by tying something around her waist, but Jacob had caught her and dropped her to the ground, causing her arm to break and the bone to rip through the skin. Stray dogs had smelled the blood and began to eat her alive. Just the thought of it made a sadistic giggle escape her lips. A cruel irony always made her laugh.  
"So how long I gotta be here?"  
"Two weeks, they said."  
"Two weeks doesn't seem very long."  
"Two weeks is long enough for you. What'd you do again?"  
"I burned down an animal testing facility."  
"Animal lover?"  
"Nope. Just a pyro that hates animal testing. And big chemical companies."  
Neither of them noticed the mismatched eyes watching them through the cracks of the hotel.

She was beautiful, he decided. She wasn't _pretty_ in any conventional sense, but to him, she was beautiful. Had he ever had a singular thought that wasn't about killing until now? A thought where death, gore, and blood wasn't on his mind?  
His brain hurt from contemplating it. And the fact that he was even thinking about it told him that he was different… Something about him had changed inside, and maybe he wasn't a heartless monster, the hand of God that his mother had wanted.  
But how could he know, when all he's ever known is pain?


	2. Chapter 2

She pulled the hoodie further around herself before walking into the decrepit hotel, looking at the decay.

"Hey trouble, I got you a present."

Looking back at the guard, she noticed a small red music player in his hand. She looked up at him in confusion.

"Why?"

"Music helps time go faster."

Tristen took the gift, cradling it in the palm of her hand with a smile.

"Thanks."

"Good luck, kid."

He watched her from behind the two-way mirror, taking in her wide green eyes, her inky black hair, the sway of her hips even in the baggy cargos she wore. He knew she was his next trophy. His real key to salvation. Jacob thought the Kira girl was the key... No. She was the unholy blasphemer, the lie. That girl was the sin he was supposed to cleanse the world of. He _knew_... Even if she didn't have the tattoos, Jacob knew the new girl was the one. His new prize.

The skin on the back of her neck prickled, and Tristen turned, pausing to stare at the mirror in front of her curiously. She stepped closer to it, running her fingers over the glass and wiping away the dirt and dust while staring at herself. Something didn't feel right... Tristen shrugged it off as her paranoia at spending the night in the hotel. She slipped the headphones into her ears and the soothing sounds of Nine Inch Nails' Right Where It Belongs began to flow through her brain. The teen hummed along quietly, slumped against the wall while she rummaged through a duffel bag full of canned food and pulled out a can of ravioli. She pried the lid off with the miniature opener before pulling a plastic fork out and scooping up her meal. Her eyes closed as she savored the food, almost moaning happily at the familiar taste of tomato sauce surrounding the pillows of cheese and noodles.


End file.
